


Our last words

by NotSoDamned



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will Graham, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Prison, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-02 18:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19447264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoDamned/pseuds/NotSoDamned
Summary: Only in blood could their souls fuse.





	1. Exposition

**_Prologue:_**

It has become common knowledge that psychopaths do not experience empathy or guilt. Although most people think that sociopaths are very much alike, they are wrong.

  
Many sociopaths can actually bond with their relatives, either family or close friends. They would not dream to hurt them and often show themselves possessive and overly protective. Their antisocial disorder often appears at an early age, meaning general hostility, opposition to authority, and eventual acts of cruelty. They do not go unnoticed, which makes them easy to catch.

  
Psychopaths, on the other hand, do not experience any form of attachment. They do not display emotions, if not to an end, and do not sympathize with others. They’re meant to be calculative, clever, and successful control-freaks with a high opinion of themselves. Psychopaths will do their best to look absolutely charming and sane, which is more than enough to fool the world. 

  
Now, that’s the theoretical part. Looks good on paper, well arranged, classified: simple. In practice, things are quite messy. Did Ted Bundy love Liz? Then he couldn’t be a psychopath. Did he handle a normal social life? Then he couldn’t be a sociopath. Then again, how could we ever know what happened in his head, the head of most killers, or the head of anyone? That’s out of our reach. Maybe for the best.

  
Will Graham could. God, he could do even more than that: he could get in their head, make them his own. Their minds were his, all enjoying themselves in his little skull, and it was getting chaotic in there. He thought that joining Hannibal would make things simpler, then again, simple had never been on the menu. Now was no change.

  
It’s quite difficult to say what happened in the month following the fall. They had been healing, surely Hannibal was now better. His back had scarred rather neatly; his right shoulder, which the impact had dislocated, was still painful but functional; and his waist was no longer making his eyes tear up with each movement. Will had no such chance.

  
Surely his body had been sheltered, he was mostly unharmed. As they had hit the water, and the few branches floating above the surface, Hannibal was back to the sea, Will nested against his chest, arms wrapped around him. Both his hands got crashed between the sea and Hannibal’s shoulder blades.

  
It was a blessing Hannibal had been strong and determined enough to drag them both to the shore. Since that moment, Will’s hands, and a good half of his forearms had been blue, swollen, and covered in deep parallel cuts. Most his fingers weren’t bent into an odd angle anymore, but they surely didn’t look normal: quivering with no reason, fingernails broken, some even absent. Both wrists reduced to shreds, thereof gone limp and useless.

  
It was also a blessing Hannibal was a doctor, a good cook, and very much obsessed about Will Graham staying alive.

  
They had set up in a little cottage, near the sea. The FBI had passed by, but they hid in the basement and had enough luck for no one to spot them. The search in this particular area had been rushed, anyway, nobody thought them stupid enough to stay so close to the Chesapeake Bay.

  
They were clever and injured enough to see there was no other option.

They had killed the past occupants, of course, quickly and neatly. Though, to Hannibal’s great displeasure, Will had damaged one of their poor victims’ kidneys with his knife, making them impossible to consume. Will had not apologized and the issue had been lingering between them. That’s exactly why they were now stuck in the backyard, a knife in Will’s hand, Hannibal’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, his broader chest pressed to Will's thinner back. 

  
« You have to apply a little pressure, just like that. Wrist crooked… No, you don’t have to move it. Just secure the handle in your palm, and apply some pressure by moving your elbow forward. » Hannibal’s voice was calm and deep, and both his eyes were focused onto the knife, which was menacing to slid from Will’s numb fingers. The younger man’s blue eyes were unfocused, looking in his hands’ general direction.

  
« Can’t we just agree on you being the one to slit bellies open for now? My hands still hurt Hannibal. » He gestured to get away but the grip around his waist intensified, blocking him into Hannibal’s firm grip. He let out a shaky breath, feeling each of Hannibal’s muscles against the small of his back, the curve of prominent ribs pressing against him. During the past month, they had had very little physical contact due to the pain of their injuries, and he wasn’t used to such proximity, nor was he enjoying it. He could feel Hannibal’s hot breath against his neck, and the merciless grip around his sore forearm was sending waves of heat and pain through every oversensitive nerve there. He was hyper-aware of each point where their bodies touched. Each movement.

  
« Had you any obligations to attend, I would have let you go. Since this is not the case I think you can indulge. You know, Will, wasting meat is something I am very insistent about avoiding. »

  
Will simply rolled his eyes, twisting his wrist with a grunt of pain so that the knife could fall off his grip. Hannibal sighed as the blade hit the floor and finally let go of him. « You show yourself to be a very unmotivated student. »

  
« If I had two working hands I would be keener to accept all your patronizing but right now I’m both pissed and very much in pain so just… » He stopped as he saw Hannibal’s both amused and endeared expression and turned around furiously to stomp back into the house, both hands hanging uselessly at his sides. « I am sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear? We had enough to feed on for two weeks, the kidneys wouldn’t have changed things much. You even were able to mince them with those... herbs. So let me be. »

  
« It just is a matter of _savoir-faire_ , Will. Plus, may I kindly remind you that you are the only one responsible for your condition since _you alone_ decided that it was _such a great idea_ to throw us both off a cliff? »

  
In fact, Will thought about it, and quite often. He would rather blame Hannibal for those poor hands of his but he had to face it, for all Hannibal had done, never had he injured him with such lasting repercussions - no one was better than Will at hurting Will. That was a tough truth.

  
Most of the time, they lied in silence. A calm, comforting silence, like a nest of tranquility. Hannibal’s breathing echoed through the room, both their breath steady, but Will’s less discernable. Their elbows almost touched, with no frank contact, and their eyes were either closed, either calmly staring into each others'. Will was terrified to break this: their fragile balance.

  
One day it looked as if time had stopped, the other he had the impression of being dead already. In rare occasions he felt more alive than ever: when they killed.

  
He was mostly useless those days. How could he not be? Without his hands, it was hard to do anything. Thus he watched Hannibal, and strangely that was enough. The sudden rush of adrenaline got his eyes shot open, pupils constricted, a smile often creeping up his lips. Hannibal, on his side, got his hands dirty, finished their victim - often an imprudent stranger walking too close to their hunting sector - and got back to Will, dragging him into a tight embrace, and holding him close until their hearts regained some sort of steadiness. Then Will watched him take the body, and they walked back home. Silent.

  
It was at their fourth kill that they finally had the discussion they had carefully avoided during the whole month. Will could have gone on without it, but apparently, Hannibal couldn’t just let him be. A body above his shoulder, the weight seeming to be a minor inconvenience at most, the tallest man got his amber eyes fixed on Will, a wick of golden hair hiding his blazing glare. Will could feel it on his side nevertheless, like piercing a hole inside his own scarred cheek.

  
Chills ran down his spine as Hannibal broke the silence.

  
« We can’t stay here anymore. None of our victims where from here, but the FBI will end up looking in this direction. Plus we can’t go on living exclusively on human meat, as much as I enjoy our hunts. »

  
« I’d rather not leave. »

  
« Will… »

  
« You know I don’t want to speak about it. »

  
Hannibal fell silent for a short moment before sighing. They arrived at the house, leaving the body under the porch, both dripping with blood. Will went to the sink, already trying to remove his shirt, soon enough joined by Hannibal’s helping hands.

  
« As much as I hate to pressure you, I cannot avoid the matter any longer. » He was calm, patient. His deep voice was mesmerizing Will as much as the fingers unbuttoning his shirt with care and dexterity. « I thought about France, I have a house there. It has not been occupied for a while but I am certain that with a little work it will be more than enjoyable. »  
Once open, Hannibal let the shirt slide down Will’s shoulder, to the crook of his elbows.

  
Will wasn’t sure whether the goosebumps covering his skin were due to the feeling of cold air against it or Hannibal’s lingering gaze. He turned around so that he could escape the fond eyes and let Hannibal pour some water over his hands to wash the blood off his bare skin. His touch made him shiver lightly, hands stuck to his chest, head falling forwards so that his dark locks hid his clenched jaw. His voice got out raw and breathless when he answered after a minute of tense silence.

  
« France? And how could we get there? We’re still on the FBI's most wanted list, our faces plastered all over the country, and you intend to get us through the customs? » The end of his sentence died out in a grunt as Hannibal grabbed his hand to pull it under the water. Will noticed the other man was still covered in velvety crimson blood, the contrast with his pale skin filling him with a sort of drunken rapture.

  
« You are hardly recognizable with your longer hair and beard, so am I. With a little effort, I believe we could manage to look even more different from our previous selves. I can buy new identities, with all the papers required to cross the borders. In short, I indeed intend to fly abroad. That is inevitable, you know it. » He stressed his last words with a light squeeze at Will’s wrist, making the younger man’s back arc and press against his abdomen convulsively. A light smile danced across his face as he heard Will swear under his breath, a colorful language that would have gotten him killed, was he any other than Will Graham.

  
« Alright then. » He spoke through greeted teeth. « But don’t you dare get us caught. »

  
« I would not dream of it. » Hannibal hummed, finally stepping away from Will, getting to the bathroom with no other word to wash his blood veil away.

  
Will remained in front of the sink, eyes staring blankly at the closed door of the bathroom. His mind was suddenly very silent, only thing perceptible being the smell of death and the sound of a running shower. He let his thoughts wander, from the prospect of going to France, moving abroad with Hannibal, to the possibility of getting caught, letting himself muse on all the days to come, all the bodies that were going to pile up whatever the outcome would be. He knew no one could really cage them, part them; and the prospect of dying with Hannibal was something he had been at peace with ever since they had jumped off that cliff.

  
He still waited for the guilt, though. Every day, all the time. He didn’t know why it didn’t come, why he could not bring himself to feel bad about it. It was just his life now, it felt natural. His only regret was that his hands did not allow him to really be by Hannibal’s side. Soon enough, eventually, he would get back his whole capacities and their relation would finally unravel. What they were, who they had become. Most importantly, they would finally discover what _their_ design was.

  
Maybe he had one more regret, though.

  
One.

  
He dared not ask Hannibal about this thing building up between them, this force pulling them both closer and closer and that seemed to be leaving them no respite until they would finally fuse completely.

  
_Is Hannibal in love with me?_

  
Then again, could Hannibal love? What would that even look like? He wasn’t naïve enough to think about anything like dating, sweet words uttered into each other’s ear. He did not even want that: they were both past those kinds of teenage romances. Thing was, he did know he craved something, but didn’t know what, and even resented his craving. Each touch, each word, made him as bitter as aching for more.

  
He hated how helpless he was getting, hated, even more, the fact that he now was depending on Hannibal, and that he was bound not to say a word about his longing. Because again, what would that look like, when he did not even know what he wanted?

  
He almost wished for an obstacle now, something to confront.

  
The only exit door to this Gordian knot seemed to be another dragon to slay, _together_.

  
Only in blood could their souls fuse.


	2. First Intermezzo

When Will awoke, he was still bathed in moonlight. The sheets felt heavy and damp under him, and his arms were throbbing, sending shivers all across his body. He cocked his head aside only to see Hannibal watching him, arching his back lightly when a cold drop of sweat made its way down his chest. He gulped lightly, deep blue eyes calmly losing themselves inside Hannibal’s amber ones. For a second he wondered if the other man ever slept.

« A nightmare? » The taller man asked after a minute of silence. His right arm was stretched under his head, his whole body lying onto its side. If Will looked closely enough, he could distinctively see each muscle, each scar underlined by the diffused and pale light of the night.

« No, it’s just my hands. » He breathed out, then letting silence stretch again. His eyes closed, and for a moment he thought he might drift back into sleep until Hannibal’s hand brushed softly his cheek. His eyes blinked back open, heavy-lashed lids fluttering over cerulean searching orbs. « You think…? » The words came out as a question, but he didn’t dare to finish it. The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat.

Hannibal sighed and shook his head, angular features closing lightly in an expression of pain. The display of emotion sent unpleasant waves of discomfort down Will’s spine, it felt almost like danger. « I don’t know, Will. Your bones have experienced serious damage, all the nerve and skin tissue is trying to heal, but it won’t be able to if the structure itself doesn’t. » Soft fingers brushed down Will’s neck, down his bare chest, shoulder, until they reached his left hand. Carefully, Hannibal maneuvered the palm so it rested in his hand, covered by a strong and diffuse warmth. « I can’t be certain you will regain a full range of movement. However, the fact that you can eat and hold most everyday life objects on your own is already encouraging. » The smile was calm, so _Hannibal like_ , yet Will wished he could brush it off his face. His eyes closed again.

« That’s going to be complicated. »

« Why would it be? » Will opened his eyes and sent the man a jaded glare, nonetheless rolling onto his side to face Hannibal fully, making their noses brush together.

« Because I still can’t do _anything_ productive. Damn, it’s a blessing I don’t have dogs anymore, I wouldn’t even be able to feed them. » His voice shook slightly on the last words, and even though he was quick to suppress it, he knew Hannibal heard the grief underlying his tone.

Hannibal didn’t answer at first. His arm came circling Will’s waist calmly, pulling him closer with a soft sigh. The smaller man tensed lightly, accepting the embrace reluctantly. His forehead was pressed against Hannibal’s throat, each beat of his heart audible to both, blood pulsing through his carotid and sending vibrations all along Will’s body.

That’s only then that it really hit him, after a month of sleeping with the man, the curls wrapped around his face hiding the shock written all over his face.

_He could kill Hannibal because Hannibal would let him._

He never saw it that way, strangely enough. Not when the man was back to him, a corpse above his shoulder restricting his movements, not when he was lying down by his side, drifting into sleep while Will could not, not when he let Will tend to his wounds, teaching him how to stitch the deepest cuts properly. It never occurred to him how _vulnerable_ Hannibal let himself be with him. He frowned softly, looking up at the other man, placing a hand above his heart, as if realizing just now that he was mortal.

« Why do you do that? Is that because you see me as weak? » He asked suddenly, a little louder than he expected, a little faster, a little more panicked than he should have reasonably sounded. « You think I am _not capable_ of hurting you anymore? Is that it? » Indignation rushed through his veins in a flash.

Hannibal blinked once, twice, before a look of curious wonder spread across his face. And _oh god_ it wasn’t the moment to stare at Will as if he was a fascinating riddle to solve. Both let a moment pass before Hannibal finally spoke up.

« Can I know what made you think that? » He asked quietly.

« _Everything_! Fuck I didn’t even think about it, _I’m so stupid!_ » Hannibal flinched at the curse but didn’t say a word, staring blankly at Will, speechless.

Then slowly, like a mask cracking, his blank stare broke into a smile, then a grin, before he exploded in a deep and fractured laugh, letting it echo brightly in the room. Will watched him quizzically, freezing, blinking as if the devil had just appeared in front of him.

« _It’s not funny! »_ He hissed, elbowing him in the shoulder with a weird movement, Hannibal simply laughing harder, apparently uncontrollably. Minutes passed by before he could finally compose himself, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, shining like diamonds. He cleared his throat and shook his head, rolling to lie down onto his back, staring at the ceiling, still unable to suppress his smile. He remained immobile, Will staring at him so hard he looked as if he wanted to burn him alive just by looking. After a few seconds of focus, Hannibal was finally able to turn and face Will again, his mask of equanimity back upon his face, hardening his features. He cupped Will’s face with his hands and stuck their foreheads together.

« I am sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed, but _you_ … » He breathed out shakily not to let his self-control slip again. « Will, I never thought of you as less capable because of your injuries. »

« Then _why_ are you like that? »

« Isn’t it obvious? » The slightest hint of amused irritation was audible in his voice, and Will swallowed a lump in his throat. He wasn’t used to be able to read Hannibal so easily, let alone see him engage in unguarded interactions.

« No, it isn’t. » He could feel his voice was laced with anguish. He didn’t really know where was the barrier anymore, who they were. Hannibal sighed and pressed a kiss to his temple, his eyes tainting with a light of… Will got a sense it was sort of _fucked up_ he was comforted by the fact that he wasn’t able to read whatever Hannibal felt at that moment, yet he did anyway. After a moment or two of silent embrace, Hannibal sat up at the edge of the bed, getting up. He walked to the door, waiting there for Will to follow. « Where are we going? »

« You will see, follow me. » Will sighed and nodded, getting up to follow. They got downstairs, Will noticing Hannibal wasn’t helping him walk as he usually did, or even trying to stay close. He got at his own pace, disregarding Will’s still sprained ankle. They got out, under the porch, and Hannibal grabbed the body they had left there, getting back in. He pulled the dead man onto the kitchen table, then going to grab a knife. He got back and handed it to Will, who watched him speechless for a moment.

« Why are you handing me a knife? »

« You’re going to cut him. »

« My hands… »

« Do it. »

Will remained silent, eyes shifting from the knife to Hannibal’s face, scanning, searching for a reason to all of this.

« Hannibal, you know I _can’t_. »

« I know you _think_ you can’t. You don’t have anything to prove to me, but apparently, you still have a lot to prove to yourself, so just grab the blade and cut. » He pulled the knife closer, and Will took it hesitantly, securing slowly the handle between shaky fingers. Each attempt at pressing them frankly onto it resulted in a burning pain that made his stomach flip.

« Is this some kind of _motivational plan_ or whatever? Because I doubt it will work. » He sighed when Hannibal gave no answer and stepped closer to the corpse. The man lying there was a brunette, approximately thirty years old. His eyes were still wide and glassy, dark orbs staring at Will with all the intensity death gave them. Will gulped and shook his head. « Could you unbutton his shirt, please? »

But Hannibal simply stretched and got back upstairs without looking back.

Will looked at the empty space once occupied by the taller man and groaned, he waited until Hannibal was more likely in their bedroom before letting a flowery string of curse out.

« _Language!_ » Echoed from upstairs, Will rolling his eyes.

« Language my ass, _fucking sadistic bastard_. » He mumbled, crooking his hand as well as he could to try and rip the man’s shirt open. He tried once, twice, unsuccessfully. His eyes were watering with effort and frustration, and he cried out in pain as he forced his all forearm to bend and apply pressure upon the fabric. Buttons flew across the room, the chest’s pale skin finally uncovered.

Will pulled his palms flat onto the edge of the table, drawing a pained breath in. Feeling pissed and humiliated, he eyed the knife a moment, before sliding it back into his palm. The sensation felt nice, familiar, yet the sharp sting in his fingers got him breathing a wounded whimper out.

Somehow, he felt thankful Hannibal had left. It made him infuriated that the other knew _exactly_ how he would react to anything.

He drew the blade above the sternum, trying to apply enough pressure to cut. Of course, Hannibal’s knife was more than sharp, yet with all his strength, Will couldn’t make more than a superficial cut into the man’s chest, getting barely deeper than the epidermis. The few drops of blood pearling at the new wound were black and stagnant, yet he barely noticed the smell. His eyes were stuck onto the knife, and he clenched his jaw in anger.

That wasn’t how things were supposed to go, the whole fall flashed back before his eyes, every sensation, every thought, every desperate attempt at pulling Hannibal closer during the time of their descent. He froze with the feeling of it all rushing back into his veins, heart pounding faster, hands still pressuring the knife onto the sternum with shaky pain, but it all went unnoticed, swallowed up as he was by the overwhelming memories.

_He falls, they fall. Blood is sticking to their skin, their clothes. He can feel the other breathe against him, or maybe is it his own breath coming out so ragged? Hearts are beating feverishly fast, his own, the other’s, united. He doesn’t feel like falling at first, feels barely anything. It’s like flying, it’s intoxicating._

_The other smells of blood and Cologne in his arms, and he can smell his own aftershave and sweat melt into the scent. His arms, his hands grip harder, drawing the man closer. His fingers dig into his back, his body curls into a ball._

_The fall is slow, so slow, and so long. He feels they should have hit the surface already, but they haven’t yet. The other holds him tighter, he doesn’t feel anything for a while._

_Then he feels it all at once. The cold, barely anything else. For a while, he doesn’t remember anything, doesn’t remember existing. He comes back to consciousness when he draws a shaky breath, and feels his lungs burn with salt and water._

_His legs are unmoving, his arms too. He feels nothing, nothing but a freezing bone-deep cold that’s spreading from his chest to each of his limbs. A heavy weight is against him, sinking down. He opens his eyes, tries to adjust. It’s all very dark, and he can’t move. He draws in another breath, it’s agonizing painful, yet he welcomes it._

_A light is shining up his head, his eyes are like bursting. Cold, cold, it’s so cold. As if the diffuse light spreading across the sea was infiltrating his core, enveloping him in a suit of ice._

_He feels it against him when the other comes back to himself, feels the sudden jolt of muscles against him, a death grip grabbing him violently. The other tries to pull him to the surface, drags him, moves dizzyingly quick, with strength. He can’t move but wishes the other would let him sink, wishes they would both sink. His mind is there, is body is there, for the first time of his life he feels whole, he feels like finally wading in the quiet of the stream._

_Yet the other doesn’t let him, is relentless. It’s a bruising, overwhelming force of nature, fighting the waves, the wind, keeping them together as if they were tied by the soul to the same fate. Will doesn’t register anything. He’s unconscious even before they break through the surface._

Will come back to the present with a gasp, breath heavy, pupils constricted. His hands were shaking madly, thick drops of sweat dripping down his bare chest. When his eyes were finally able to focus again, the body was open in two, cut deeply all along the chest. Even more than cut, the two halves of his torso had been carved open, each organ unharmed and displayed neatly. He gulped and let a breathy sob out, letting go of the knife to cover his own sweat-covered face.

He didn’t see Hannibal as he approached, didn't register the moment when his arms circled him and pressed him close, only coming back to himself when the steady pulse of a stronger heart pounded against his own chest. They were pressed skin to skin, Will still shaking, tears dripping down his cheeks, blood down his hands.

Hannibal was smiling quietly, peaceful.

« I told you, Will. » The voice came as a quiet whisper in his ear. « What a cunning boy you are. »


End file.
